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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557374">Brave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere'>Sir_Bedevere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Brave [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ghosts (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A tad of angst just to spice it up, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, PatCap Valentine's Week 2021, The other characters are here too but they aren't the main focus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:14:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>By the time Patrick came back with his six – six! – cups of overpriced Starbucks coffee, Ted was safely behind his desk. He’d begun to feel a little more like himself once he was settled down with his screens around him, and had almost talked himself into thinking that he’d be just fine. It would be fine. It couldn’t be anything but fine, because the only other option was to tell Patrick how he felt, and that was such a sheer impossibility that he didn’t need to tie himself in knots thinking about it. Patrick would leave and go back to Leeds, and Ted would breath a sigh of relief and carry on with his life. His own company hadn’t been a problem up until now, and it wouldn’t be a problem going forwards. It was safer that way. Never give anyone the opportunity to know you. That way madness lay. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>He just had to make it through the day without making a fool of himself. Easy. He’d had a million days before with the exact same aim. </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pat Butcher/The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Brave [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Once again, I've fucked up. This was supposed to be a quick 3k modern AU and here we are sitting at 7k and I'm not finished at all. I just wanted to write something a bit silly and rom-commy and over the top and stupid Cap had to go having feelings all over the place.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live,<br/>
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in,<br/>
Show me how big your brave can be.</i><br/>
- Sara Bareilles, Brave.</p><p>On Friday morning, Ted dragged himself to work, battling the rush hour Northern Line crush.</p><p>He didn’t really need the crutch that he always took on the Tube – apart from on the bad days – but he’d always found it did a fairly good job of at least making people give him a bit of space. Sometimes, it even got him a seat if some kind soul happened to be sharing his carriage, and although he didn’t like the implication that he was too weak to stand all the way into town, he had to admit that his knee always thanked him when he swallowed his pride and took the seat. Lately, it had been all about picking his battles. He liked to think he was getting better at it. </p><p>On that particular Friday it was pouring with rain when he left the station, and by the time he got to the office, he was ready to chuck the bloody umbrella he was toting into the Thames. As if the day wasn’t going to be bad enough already, it had to be raining so much that it was running down the back of his neck. What even was the point of the bloody umbrella at all, except to make his life more difficult? What was this weather called? Pathetic fallacy. It would be more convenient for him if the ground just opened and swallowed him whole, rather than this flood trying to wash him away. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with a damp shirt. </p><p>Robin, their armchair astronomer security guard, was dozing at his desk when Ted stumbled through the door, cursing. Robin opened one eye to peer at him. </p><p>“You look like shit.”</p><p>“Thank you for that helpful comment,” Ted snapped, trying and failing to shake out the umbrella. All he managed to do was make a puddle on the polished marble. <i>And</i> he dropped the crutch whilst trying to keep hold of his bags. It clattered forlornly to the floor. </p><p>“Want some help?”</p><p>He jumped. Robin was right there at his side, surprisingly stealthy for a man who wore Doc Martens even in the summer. </p><p>“Just take this please,” Ted said through gritted teeth, handing over the umbrella. In one smooth motion, Robin took custody of it and also managed to scoop up the crutch, handing it over without a word. </p><p>“Thank you,” Ted muttered, taking it and hoisting his bags further up his shoulder. He slipped his arm into the crutch; the weight of the stuff he was carrying was definitely not helping his knee. </p><p>“What’re all the bags for?” Robin asked idly. “You look like you’re moving in.”</p><p>“Just the usual,” Ted said, patting his laptop and gym bags. “And – er – clothes for Patrick’s leaving party. I won’t have time to go home.”</p><p>“Oh yeah. That’s today.”</p><p>The look on Robin’s face was far too knowing for Ted’s liking, almost sympathetic, which he could certainly be doing without. Whatever these people they knew, they didn’t.</p><p>
  <i>They didn’t know anything.</i>
</p><p>“Anyway, thank you,” Ted said, and went across to the lift. He was sure that Robin watched him the entire way.</p><p>It was still early, so when he stepped onto his floor, the only sound was the hum of the vacuum cleaner coming from the direction of Humphrey’s office. Ted often crossed paths with Mary, the cleaner, at his usual early hour. She was a nice enough woman, although a little bit too new age and into crystals for him to be entirely comfortable with her. And on that morning, he was certain that the last thing he wanted to do was listen to the latest from fairyland. </p><p>He went as quickly as he could to his desk and pulled the cubicle walls around it, sitting heavily in his chair and trying not to groan as his knee clicked. The moveable cubicle walls had been cooked up by Humphrey and Patrick, something to make the office more open plan, but still allow for privacy if needed. Ted thought it was a bit rich coming from Humphrey who had his own bloody office to hide in, but Patrick had a way of persuading people that far surpassed Ted’s ability to reign in his more enthusiastic colleagues. So the office had gone mostly open plan, and now only a flimsy bit of MDF and plastic was standing between him and Mary’s weekly offer to do his horoscope for the weekend. </p><p>He’d just have to be quiet and hope she didn’t notice the wall had moved. As it happened, he needed his weekend horoscope even less than usual, because he knew exactly what was going to happen. Tonight, he’d sit through Patrick’s leaving party and then he’d spend Saturday and Sunday curled up on the sofa with a bottle of whisky. And the whole time he’d be cursing every fibre of his cowardly husk. </p><p>Ted massaged his knee, wincing, and held his breath when Mary appeared in the main part of the office, dragging the clattering old vacuum behind her. Someone up there had to be looking down and smiling on him, because she tidied away her things and left, no doubt on her way downstairs to flirt with Robin over a cup of coffee. Well, that suited Ted well enough. With any luck, no one else would appear until he’d had time to sort himself out. First order of the day – change his damp shirt for a dry one. There was always a spare in his gym bag, and although there wasn’t much to be done about the wrinkles, it was preferable to catching pneumonia from sitting in a wet one all day. </p><p>He limped to the bathroom, crutch abandoned now he was safely in the office, and immediately caught a look at himself in the obnoxiously enormous mirrors. Whoever had invented public bathroom lighting had clearly not been a man on the wrong side of forty, exhausted and crumbling to pieces in the bright, stark light. It wasn’t even windy outside, yet his carefully brushed hair was out of place. He thought briefly of the comb in his gym bag, but the distance to his desk seemed an impossible chasm, so he’d just have to finger comb and hope for the best. </p><p>The man in the mirror had circles under his eyes that Ted was sure weren’t there at home, and his moustache was more grey than it ever seemed in his own bathroom. With a sigh, he pulled his jumper off and laid it by the sink, then began to unbutton his shirt. Better not to look in the mirror. Just get on with the job. The last button had passed through the hole when the door swung open. </p><p>“Oh. Hi, Cap! I wondered where you were hiding.”</p><p>Ted closed his eyes. Of course.</p><p>“Good morning, Patrick. You’re early.”</p><p>“Oh, you know how it is. Last day in the old place. Want to make the most of it.”</p><p>Patrick’s voice was light, but he didn’t bounce into the room with his usual vigour. Ted swallowed and tried to look casual as he glanced over to look at the man’s face. Patrick had that indecipherable half smile on his face, his chestnut hair falling across his forehead in an artistic sweep. Ted had to believe it was engineered to fall that way, or else he’d only have one more to thing to add to the seemingly never-ending list of how perfect Patrick was. </p><p>“I’m gonna make a Starbucks run in a minute,” Patrick said, coming to stand at Ted’s side. They looked at one another in the mirror, and Ted realised his knuckles were white where he was clutching at his shirt. </p><p>“You can’t – er – I won’t have you paying for that stuff today,” Ted said, loosening his grip. “My credit card is in my wallet. You know where it is.”</p><p>“Never thought I’d see the day you offered to pay,” Patrick teased, gently punching Ted’s arm. “You must really be going to miss me, huh?”</p><p>Ted chuckled, the laugh like sandpaper in his throat. Patrick seemed to be waiting for him to say something else, poised on the edge of a breath, and when it didn’t come, he cleared his throat. </p><p>“What are you doing in here anyway?”</p><p>“My shirt got wet on the way in,” Ted said. This was more like it. Normal conversation. Safe ground. </p><p>“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Patrick yawned, shuffling off to one of the cubicles and letting the door slam shut. “I’m just gonna pee and then I’ll go out.”</p><p>Ted wasn’t listening. As soon as Patrick’s eyes were no longer on him, he whipped the shirt off and snatched up the new one. The last thing he wanted was for Patrick to see him in his vest. That was too much. </p><p>He was safely rebuttoned when Patrick appeared at the sink a minute later to wash his hands. Ted put his jumper back on and fussed with his hair. He tried to convince himself that no matter how much his traitorous heart might want it, Patrick wasn’t watching his every move from the corner of his eye. </p><p>**</p><p>By the time Patrick came back with his six – six! – cups of overpriced Starbucks coffee, Ted was safely behind his desk. He’d begun to feel a little more like himself once he was settled down with his screens around him, and had almost talked himself into thinking that he’d be just fine. It would be fine. It couldn’t be anything but fine, because the only other option was to tell Patrick how he felt, and that was such a sheer impossibility that he didn’t need to tie himself in knots thinking about it. Patrick would leave and go back to Leeds, and Ted would breath a sigh of relief and carry on with his life. His own company hadn’t been a problem up until now, and it wouldn’t be a problem going forwards. It was safer that way. Never give anyone the opportunity to know you. That way madness lay. </p><p>He just had to make it through the day without making a fool of himself. Easy. He’d had a million days before with the exact same aim. </p><p>“Here we are, Cap,” Patrick said, bringing all eight cups of coffee to his desk and dumping them on the edge. “I got you a large one cos honestly you looked knackered this morning.”</p><p>“So generous with my own money,” Ted said, holding out his hand for the credit card that Patrick dug from his raincoat pocket. “I see you thought everyone else needed a large one as well.”</p><p>Patrick laughed, and his tongue peeked out from between his teeth, Ted tried not to look at it. God. He’d miss that laugh. And the complete disregard for his barriers, the irritating amount of gall on Patrick’s part that had seen him long ago storm Ted’s castle walls and set up camp in – in his heart. </p><p>He shook his head to clear that thought. Dangerous. He was trying to make it through. </p><p>“Coffee’s up!” Patrick called to the office at large as he dragged him dripping coat over to the hooks by the door. “On Cap’s desk.”</p><p>“Ooh, ventis!” Katherine said, appearing over Ted’s shoulder and almost giving him a heart attack. “Pat, did they have – ”</p><p>“Of course, Kitty,” Patrick said, coming back to scoop up his own cup. “They keep the pumpkin just for you, I think.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Katherine grinned. “Thank you, Captain.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he muttered, snatching the cup that Patrick held out to him and glowering over the lid. It didn’t work, of course. His glower had never worked on a man who could see right through him. </p><p>Then, of course, the others appeared and crowded around his desk. They were, it seemed, quite disinclined to move far once they had possession of their drinks. </p><p>“Are you all packed up and ready then, Pat?” Alison asked, perched on the edge of Ted’s desk. “Don’t want to be all hungover trying to do that tomorrow.”</p><p>Ted busied himself with a stack of post-it notes, screwing up the ones ready for the bin. He didn’t want to hear about the move. He didn’t want to know a single thing about it. Patrick seemed to have accepted that, although of course he didn’t know Ted’s reasons. He just didn’t mention it much when they were together, and that was fine. </p><p>“Just about,” Patrick said, his voice rather small. “Daley’s still got some stuff to pack up in his room but he’s old enough to manage that himself in the morning. Carol will just have to lock up and put the key through.”</p><p>“He’s going to miss you, mate,” Humphrey said, his voice matter of fact. Ted looked up sharply; what did Humphrey think he was doing? It was hardly making it easier for Patrick by talking about the son he was leaving behind. </p><p>“Yeah, well. I’ll see him in the holidays. And it’s only two hours drive if the wind’s in my favour. I can go to see him anytime I want.”</p><p>“Of course, you can!” Katherine nodded enthusiastically and squeezed Patrick’s arm. </p><p>There was a lull as Patrick audibly swallowed. The reason for his move back to Leeds was partly to do with his new job for a larger charity – a step up the ladder – but also because Carol, his wife, had suddenly admitted one evening that she was in love with someone else, and would be leaving Patrick for the man. Ted could hardly bear to think of the state Patrick had been in afterwards, and how very inadequate he himself was at providing any comfort for his closest friend. What he wanted to tell him, as Patrick sobbed in his living room, was that Carol had to be quite mad to ever think there was a man out there better than Patrick Butcher. What he ended up doing instead was helping Patrick get blackout drunk and then spreading a blanket over him as he passed out on the sofa. </p><p>All in all, it had been rather a difficult time. </p><p>“Alright then, you lot,” Humphrey said, breaking the silence. “Let’s at least pretend to do some work this morning, yeah? Crack on.”</p><p>Everyone laughed, the tension gone, and Ted’s shoulders dropped as the crowd departed around him. It was only when he glanced up that he noticed Humphrey was still there. </p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>“Give me a push back to my office, will you? Can’t manage it with this bucket of coffee.”</p><p>Ted knew perfectly well that Humphrey <i>could</i> easily manoeuvre his wheelchair back to the office with the cup in his hand, because he’d seen him do it many times. </p><p>“If you want to speak to me, you only have to ask,” Ted grumbled, standing up and gripping the wheelchair handles. They were low down, lower than his waist, and the bending motion made his back ache. “I’m filing for damages if I injure myself under this pretence.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>They made it to the office without breaking anything, or spilling any coffee. Humphrey’s office was nice enough for a walled off cubicle in mid-range office block in the city; as the CEO of Vets UK &amp; Ireland, he could probably have afforded something better, but like all decent charity moguls, he preferred to put the money back into the charity. </p><p>“Alright, Ted,” Humphrey said, spinning himself around. “Out with it.”</p><p>“Out with what?”</p><p>“Don’t give me that. Are you going to tell Pat or not?”</p><p>Ted sank into the chair by the desk, and knitted his hands together. Any other workplace, he had to believe, would have rules about the CEO hassling members of his staff into admitting their – preferences for one another. But this was Vets UK &amp; Ireland, and this was Major Humphrey Higham. And he was, unfortunately, Captain Edward Roberts who happened to be a friend of Humphrey Higham who in turn was, unfortunately, a rather larger than life character with absolutely no regard for the privacy of his friends at all. </p><p>“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Humphrey, before it goes into your thick head, but Patrick has just finalised his divorce from a <i>woman.</i> Which rather suggests to me that he wouldn’t be interested even if I did have something to tell him. Which I don’t. You’re speculating.”</p><p>Humphrey rolled his eyes and picked up a stapler, pretending with a rather gruesome pantomime to staple his own hand to his forehead. Always a flair for the dramatic. </p><p>“You’re a good man, Ted, but you are such an idiot. Did the concept of bisexuality pass you by when they gave you your gay card? Pat likes you. A lot.”</p><p>“As a friend, yes,” Ted bristled, his fingernails digging into his palms. “But I’d thank you not to try and tell me how I am feeling when you have no idea.”</p><p>This was so new still, talking openly about his sexuality with anyone, but especially someone who he had fought with in the army, when the idea of even mentioning the gay word would have seen the end of his career. </p><p>Perhaps Humphrey realised that he had pushed him too far, because he held his hands up. His kind brown eyes, usually so full of mischief, were focused far too keenly on Ted’s face as he said, “Alright, Ted, I’m sorry. But I just want you to be happy, mate. I really do.”</p><p>“If you want me to be happy, then just leave me alone. Please. Patrick and I are just friends.”</p><p>The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he couldn’t talk about this now. Not today, when Patrick was going to up and leave him. Leave them. </p><p>“You will come to the party, won’t you?” Humphrey asked, picking up his coffee and snapping the lid off. An oat milk mocha – oat milk because Humphrey’s wife was vegan and he was a supportive husband, mocha because he had a charmingly sweet tooth for a man almost forty-five. He was a thoroughly decent chap, despite his irritatingly good perception. </p><p>“Of course, I’m coming,” Ted said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Really pleased that you're all liking this so far. I've wrestled it down to three chapters which seems reasonable to me for something that is like herding cats.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Avoiding Patrick was going perfectly well up until lunchtime. Ted stayed at his desk, working on the logistics for the spring fundraisers. Patrick was in the meeting room with Katherine, the pair of them training up Thomas, the amateur poet who would be replacing Patrick as the campaign manager. Ted was trying hard not to dislike the young man, but so far he hadn’t seen anything about him that inspired much confidence he’d be able to replace Patrick. </p><p>He knew though that it wasn’t fair to compare them at all. Not when Patrick was – well, anyway. It wasn’t fair to hold Thomas to such high standards. Ted promised himself that he’d try harder. Humphrey must have seen something in him or else he never would have given him the job. </p><p>At half past twelve, Ted’s watch buzzed on his wrist and just a moment later, Patrick was standing in front of him. He was already shrugging into his coat, and he held Ted’s in his hands. </p><p>“Lunch? My treat.”</p><p>Ted wanted to say no. His treacherous stomach twisted at the idea that this was the last Friday lunch he and Patrick would ever have together. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat a bite, sitting opposite this man and trying to keep his words in his mouth. But Patrick was smiling hopefully at him, his eyes shining in the artificial light. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, opted for his contacts instead. Ted always thought that they made his eyes seem larger in his face; bright and doe like. He could hardly say no to such a pair of eyes. </p><p>“Alright. But I’m paying.”</p><p>“Whatever you want,” Patrick said, holding his coat up so that Ted could thread his arms into it. When Patrick’s hands skated up his back and settled the coat on his shoulders, he tried not to shiver. The truth was, he <i>was</i> in love with Patrick. Humphrey wasn’t wrong about it. But could he be blamed, when his friend was the best person that Ted had ever known? Could he be blamed when he was so free and easy with his touches like this, when no one else in Ted’s life ever had been? It wasn’t a fault to love him. It was just an impossibility, when he knew that Patrick wouldn’t ever love him in the same way. </p><p>They crossed the office side by side, Ted opting to leave the crutch behind. Patrick noticed he didn’t have it, because he turned as though to confirm it was still leaning against the desk, and then clicked his tongue as they stepped into the lift. </p><p>“Let’s just go to Nico’s. I can’t be arsed to walk anywhere else.”</p><p>Nico’s was just next door, a little café that did a very passable sandwich and a decent coffee. It was hardly the place for a final farewell to their lunches together, but Patrick was doing it for him, so they didn’t have to walk far. </p><p>Always thinking of him, Patrick was. </p><p>Ted leaned against the wall of the lift and noted how Patrick seemed to deflate as the doors closed behind them. For a small chap, he had a habit of filling the space around him – with his giant personality, his laughter and his friendly ease – but Ted knew how easily all of that could be swept away. Patrick was very good at pretending. Perhaps, in this respect, almost as good as Ted himself was. He’d kept a brave face through this entire divorce ordeal, save the evening he spent on Ted’s sofa, and it had to be grating on him now that the day had come that he was packing up his life in London for good. </p><p>Patrick slouched forwards and put his hands in his pockets, head leaning against the same mirrored wall that Ted was propping himself up with. </p><p>“Reckon that the party’s gonna be quite hard later, Teddy,” he said, his eyes downcast. “Don’t really feel much like celebrating.”</p><p><i>Teddy.</i> </p><p>The name Patrick kept for when they were alone, two friends together. No one had ever called him Teddy, apart from his sister, but one day Patrick had just come out with it. Ted protested, of course, but secretly he rather adored the way that it sounded in Patrick’s gentle mouth. When he was Teddy, he could pretend he was a person who was worthy of Patrick’s time and attention. Worthy to put the blanket around his shoulders when he was distraught, worthy to hold his hand whilst he sobbed into a glass of brandy. Worthy to love him, if only Patrick could love him too. </p><p>“Just give me the word when you’ve had enough and I can engineer a crisis so you have to leave,” Ted said, turning his head just enough that he could see Patrick’s face. </p><p>“I’m just so tired. Once I get to Leeds, back to my mum and everything, I’m sure it will be easier. But it doesn’t change what happened, does it? Doesn’t change that Daley won’t give a toss about me soon.”</p><p>Against his better judgement, before he could stop himself, Ted took a side step, reached out and put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. Patrick didn’t look up, but he’d gone tense under the grip. </p><p>“That boy loves you so much, Pat,” Ted said, a lump in his throat. “The last thing he’s going to do is forget his dad. Not when he adores you like he does.”</p><p>“You can’t know that,” Patrick mumbled, and to Ted’s horror, he brought his hand to the bridge of his nose to squeeze it against what could only be tears. Ted was frozen as Patrick sniffed and wiped roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand. </p><p>“Sorry. I’ll – sorry, Teddy.”</p><p>It was the Teddy that did it of course. He couldn’t help himself. He took one more step, closed the gap and gingerly put his arms around Patrick. They were in the lift – the lift that would stop any moment now – but what else was there to do? Patrick seemed to agree; he reached up and clutched at the back of Ted’s coat, his face pressed to Ted’s chest. With a presence of mind that he was amazed to discover, Ted managed to hit the lift hold button as they came down to the mostly empty fourth floor. That would give them a few minutes of privacy anyway. Give Patrick a few minutes of privacy. He was the one who needed it, of course.</p><p>Ted patted Patrick’s back awkwardly as his friend sniffled into his lapel.</p><p>“I promise you, Pat, Daley will not forget about you. He’ll love the holidays and the special meetings and the trips out and the treats. It isn’t fair that Carol’s taking him to Wales. But if anyone can make the best of it, then it’s his brilliant father.”</p><p>The empty floor was so quiet that Ted could hear Patrick’s breathing against his chest, feel the warmth of his breath. He didn’t mean to tighten his grip, but Patrick wasn’t giving any sign of letting go, and if this was the last time that he’d ever touch him like this – well, then, Ted was prepared to take the risk of embarrassing himself. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see himself in the mirrored walls of the lift, and clung on. </p><p>Eventually, because it had to end – it had to – Patrick spoke. </p><p>“You always know what to say.”</p><p>“It’s a gift,” Ted said, forcing lightness into his voice and forcing his arms to let go. Patrick stepped back, wiping at his face. He was a little bit flushed; embarrassed, not doubt, by his outburst. </p><p>“I’ll manage later, if you’re with me. You’re coming, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Of course. Always.”</p><p>If there was one good thing that army life had taught Edwards Roberts, it was resilience. </p><p>So he made it through lunch, and Patrick’s melancholy conversation. He made it through the lift ride back up to the office, and tried not to think about holding Patrick tightly and never letting him go. He made it through the afternoon of work, when everyone else appeared to have given up and spent most of the time gathered round Pat’s desk, chatting. And he made it through the festival atmosphere that descended as the workday ended. Alison and Katherine hurried off to the bathroom with bags in their hands, cackling as the door swung closed behind them. Humphrey wheeled around the office, a tray on his lap, and collected up all the coffee cups for the dishwasher, whistling obnoxiously to the radio that he’d turned up to almost unbearable levels. Thomas, the new manager, packed up his things and promised to meet them at the restaurant, if they really did want him to come? </p><p>“Of course, mate,” Patrick said, slapping him on the back. “First drinks are on Cap, alright?”</p><p>“Alright,” Thomas smirked, his eyes straying in Ted’s direction. “I won’t be long. I only live three stops out.</p><p>Ted rolled his eyes. Of course he did. </p><p>“Be nice to him,” Patrick said, as Thomas hurried towards the lift. “He’s a good lad.”</p><p>“I am perfectly nice,” Ted said, rummaging under his desk and pulling out his bag. “Uh – I suppose I’ll go and get changed then. I was hoping to go for a shower at the gym but I think it’s too late.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about all that,” Patrick called over his shoulder, going for his own bag. “No one else is.”</p><p>As if to illustrate his point, there was a shriek of laughter from the women’s bathroom, and Ted winced. </p><p>“They’re going to be unbearable once they’ve had a drink or two.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t have them any other way.”</p><p>Ted was spared the gut-wrenching embarrassment at having to change his clothes in the same bathroom as Patrick when his friend veered towards the disabled loo. </p><p>“What about Humphrey?” Ted asked, glancing towards the kitchen, where the clattering of cups and off tune whistling told him Humphrey was still hard at work. </p><p>“I won’t be long. Just – need some more space, eh? I’m rounder than you are. Cubicles are too small.”</p><p>Ted nodded, and made his way to the men’s. Patrick was always a bit shy about that sort of thing, made jokes that he didn’t have the old soldier’s physique that Ted and Humphrey still boasted. It was nonsense, of course, but everyone had their foibles. And at least it meant Ted didn’t have to once again be in an enclosed space with Patrick. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive another episode like the lift one. </p><p>** </p><p>The Indian restaurant that Humphrey had booked to host their evening was, predictably, really rather expensive. He was a man with exquisite taste, and generous with his own money. Ted knew that no one would be expected to pay for a single thing that they ate or drank here, a fact that heavily implied there was going to be a lot of alcohol flowing with not a lot of thought to back it up. </p><p>They arrived at the restaurant as a group, walking together in a strung-out line along the rain slicked pavements of Central London. Ted tended to avoid the middle of the city on weekends if he could. It was too noisy, too busy and generally rather unpleasant. Evening revellers had less respect for the crutch than morning commuters, and he hated being buffeted about on the tide. Still, at least with this little group, he had someone to walk with. Patrick didn’t leave his side from the minute they stepped out of the office. </p><p>“Yoo hoo!” Alison suddenly yelled, waving frantically. The rest of their party was gathered outside of the restaurant already; Thomas; Alison’s husband, Michael; and the charity’s part time accountant, Julian. Michael turned at the sound of Alison’s voice and waved back; he was a good chap, who did some web design for them from time to time, when the necessity arose. </p><p>“Could you have taken literally any longer to get here?” Julian griped from under his umbrella. “I was this close to jumping in Lady B’s car and putting up with the complaining.”</p><p>“Oh, she actually came did she?” Humphrey asked, just as a driver hopped out of the car which was pulled up and idling by the kerb. He hurried around with an umbrella and opened the door to reveal Lady Fanny Button, extremely minor member of the aristocracy and the patron of Vets UK &amp; Ireland. She had a suitably disapproving look on her face as she stepped onto the filthy pavement, but Ted could hardly blame her for that. </p><p>“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “Shall we do the necessary greetings inside, lest we be washed away in this flood?”</p><p>“Did you know she was coming?” Patrick whispered in Ted’s ear as they followed the group into the restaurant. “Why is she here?”</p><p>“I suppose it’s because she likes you. You know she’s been impressed with your work.”</p><p>Patrick flushed, and pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous tic of his. Ted was pleased he had abandoned the contact lenses for the evening. The glasses related body language was much easier to read. And he happened to think Patrick looked better with them than without. </p><p>Not that he was thinking about that. </p><p>The maitre d’ escorted them to the private room that would be theirs for the evening. The wealth of the place was easy to see here; thick, lush looking cushioned chairs and benches, covered in plush purple velvet. Faux marble walls, embossed with gold paint. A chandelier that looked as though it belonged in some royal palace. </p><p>“Blimey,” Patrick said, as a waiter appeared out of nowhere and offered to take his coat. “Think Humphrey is glad to get rid of me or something?”</p><p>“Rather the opposite, I’d say. I think he’s going to miss you terribly.”</p><p>Patrick hummed under his breath as the party spread out to find their places. Ted could only assume that Humphrey had something to do with the seating plan when he realised that he and Patrick were sitting next to each other, the only ones sharing a bench seat made just for two. Ted rolled his eyes. </p><p>“This place is amazing, Humphrey!” Katherine said, reaching for a bottle of the table wine almost before she was finished sitting down. “How did you find it?”</p><p>“Vegan networks. They know everything.”</p><p>“Vegan?” Julian exclaimed, halfway through shedding his coat. “You’re joking?” </p><p>“Calm down, Fawcett. Plenty of options for you carnivores as well. I wouldn’t do that to Pat at his own party, would I?”</p><p>Lady Button, sitting in pride of place at the head of the table, with Humphrey on one side and Pat on the other, cleared her throat. </p><p>“I’m quite the vegetarian these days, would you believe.”</p><p>That was all Humphrey needed to launch her into conversation, which left Ted and Patrick to themselves at their end of the table. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” Ted asked, under his breath so that Thomas, sitting opposite, couldn’t catch it. “Remember, any moment you need to get out. Just ask.”</p><p>“I’m alright,” Patrick said, reaching for the nearest bottle of wine. “But I’m going to get a bit drunk. Just so you know.”</p><p>He was as good as his word, too. Ted tried not to be too concerned that by the time the first course of exquisite, tiny starters had been demolished and cleared, the bottle of wine was empty – and he knew for a fact that Patrick had drunk all of it save for the single glass that Humphrey managed to get from it. It wasn’t as thought Patrick was drinking alone though; at the far end of the table, Julian was getting progressively louder, a sure sign that he was well into his cups, and the younger team members in the middle of the table had at least two empty bottles already. Ted wasn’t going to judge Patrick, or suggest he slow down. It was inevitable that on this saddest of days, he’d do what he could to cope. </p><p>Coping was in fact the very reason that Ted himself was still working on his first glass of wine, and would be for a long time. He couldn’t afford a single slip or word out of place. </p><p>As the evening progressed and the wine flowed, the heat in the room began to build. Ted took off his jumper and unbuttoned his collar, only to inspire Patrick to do the same. </p><p>“Help me with this, will ya?” he laughed, as the jumper got stuck over his head. “M’all tangled.”</p><p>“Stay still,” Ted chuckled despite himself, trying to find the bottom of the jumper and avoid Patrick’s flailing arms. In this warm room, with the temperature rising, he had to admit that Patrick smelled rather nice. Whatever aftershave he had doused himself with was very pleasant indeed, and Ted felt as though the scent was going straight to his head. More than the wine, it was making him feel rather punch drunk. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed his nose to the vicinity of Patrick’s neck, all in the guise of getting the jumper over his head. </p><p>“Did you – just smell me?” Patrick asked, as he was finally freed. </p><p>“No,” Ted blushed, cursing himself. “I was trying to untangle you.”</p><p>Patrick was looking at him with a focus that suggested he wasn’t quite as drunk as he was pretending to be. Slowly, he reached up to unbutton his collar and the button beneath it, but his thoughtful eyes never left Ted’s face. Ted held his breath, and did not let his eyes drop. Whatever this was, this moment of timelessness that seemed to be floating in the middle of the raucous room, he couldn’t let it go. Like a balloon on a string, he had to hold it tight and wait for it to deflate. </p><p>“Captain!”</p><p>There it was. The pin to pop the moment. Ted tried not to be sorry as he turned away from Patrick to find Julian waving at him from the end of the table. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m getting some brandies. Do you want one?”</p><p>
  <i>Well, why not? He’d made it this far. </i>
</p><p>“Yes, I will. Thank you,”</p><p>“Pat?” Julian slurred. “You in?”</p><p>“Yeah, alright.” </p><p>Ted dared to turn his head and look back at him. Whatever look he thought he’d seen on Patrick’s face was, thankfully, gone, and he was back to picking gamely at his ice cream. </p><p>“Just get a bottle, Fawcett!” Humphrey called. </p><p>“Yes, sir, Major, sir!”</p><p>Soon after that little exchange, Lady Button took her graceful departure. Ted walked her to the door where she met her driver, and then went to the bathroom. </p><p>It was cooler in there, and he pressed his forehead against the tiles, just for a moment. He’d drunk rather more than he intended to, in the end, but the evening was almost over. He could make it to the end, and then go home to nurse his broken heart, and all would be well by Monday. He had to believe that, or else he’d go mad.</p><p>It was getting late, and there were fewer people in the restaurant, so when the door swung open, he wasn’t surprised to see Michael hovering in the doorway. </p><p>“Alright, boss,” he grinned, his eyes a little bit unfocused. “We’re gonna go clubbing after this. Wanna come?”</p><p>Michael was a frank and charming young man, which was the only reason that Ted didn’t laugh in his face at the idea that he’d be going anywhere except home. Especially to a club, of all places. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been to a club in his life, and forty-five was the wrong time to start. </p><p>“I don’t think I will, Michael. Thank you for the offer.”</p><p>He just grinned and came into the room, to reveal Patrick standing behind him.</p><p>“Shame,” Patrick said. “I was thinking of taking them up on the invitation.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous, man.”</p><p>“Why? Cos I’m past it?” Patrick asked, and there should have been a note of teasing in his voice. But there wasn’t, and Ted in turn wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. </p><p>“I didn’t say that. I just meant-”</p><p>“I could go. If I wanted to. No one to stop me. No one waiting for me at home, is there? Maybe I should be gettin’ back out there.”</p><p>Michael, drunk as he was, had the good sense to finish his business extremely efficiently, and fled the room, the door swinging behind him. It left Ted and Patrick squaring up across the shiny marble floor of the nicest bathroom in Knightsbridge, having an argument that Ted didn’t understand in the slightest. </p><p>“Pat, I didn’t-”</p><p>“I know what you meant, Ted,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “But maybe if I’d done it sooner, I’d have a reason to stay in London. There’s bloody <i>nothing</i> for me here, is there?”</p><p>On the day he almost lost his leg, out in the deserts of Afghanistan, Ted had spent the entire morning feeling as though he were on a precipice. From the moment he woke to the moment the mine exploded, his head was swimming with a sort of vertigo that suggested if he took just one wrong step, he’d plunge off the side of a cliff. He’d never told anyone, even Humphrey, about the strange feeling of doom, the foresight that hadn’t even been able to save him in the end. But standing with Patrick, right then, he felt as though he were once more on the edge of something, and he couldn’t see the bottom to know what it was. </p><p>“I don’t know what you want me to say, Pat. I don’t understand-”</p><p>“Of course you bloody don’t. You’re too wrapped up in yourself to see a single thing in front of you, Ted.”</p><p>Balanced on the edge. One step forward into the dark. That would be all it took. </p><p>But instead – </p><p>“You’re drunk, Patrick. I think you need to go home.”</p><p>Patrick balled his hands into fists and bashed one thoughtlessly against his forehead, growling low in his throat. </p><p>“Just piss off, Cap,” he said eventually, through gritted teeth. “Just – piss off.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A coward. He was nothing more than a coward. He’d been a coward his whole life. He’d joined the army to prove he wasn’t one and now people called him a hero, although he didn’t often feel like one. What kind of hero was afraid to tell someone the truth? </p>
<p>But in that moment, as Patrick turned and fled the bathroom, Ted <i>was</i> afraid. Or rather, he was afraid for Patrick’s state of mind. He’d never seen his friend like that. Not even Carol and her cheating had driven Patrick to such uncontainable rage. Sorrow, yes, and multitudes of it. But anger. That was new, and it was Ted’s fault. Patrick said as much that it was. <i>Too wrapped up in himself to see what was in front of him?</i> He leaned heavily on the sink, and put his face in his hands; he felt like a toddler with a puzzle, trying and failing to fit the pieces together. </p>
<p>
  <i>Pat likes you. A lot.</i>
</p>
<p>Humphrey had been saying some variation of that for months. </p>
<p>Patrick’s hands on Ted’s shoulders, smoothing his coat down. How Patrick clung to him in the lift. Looking at him in the mirror. Unbuttoning his shirt. Going for lunches and drinking together. Patrick taking his elbow to help him on the stairs. Leaning over his shoulder to read an email. Hands on him. Patrick’s hands on him, and his breath on his neck and his laughter in his ear. </p>
<p>All pieces of a puzzle that had refused to fit. </p>
<p>
  <i>Oh God. Oh God, oh God.</i>
</p>
<p>“What the hell did you do to Pat?” </p>
<p>Julian burst through the door, his eyes bright with mischief. </p>
<p>“He’s just hightailed it out of here like he was on fire,” Julian carried on, crowding into Ted’s space, the vicious scent of too much brandy on his breath. “What happened, you finally make a move did you? Not very classy in the loos, is it? I thought you were better than that, you old-”</p>
<p>He couldn’t stop himself. Something in Ted snapped, a last frayed nerve, and the next thing he knew, he was nursing his fist as Julian stumbled backwards, holding his nose. </p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, Captain, I was only messing around,” Julian garbled, his voice wet with blood. “I – oh, Christ. It’s everywhere.”</p>
<p>Ted didn’t stop to see if he was alright. He didn’t care. He didn’t know what Julian had been about to say, but he didn’t need to. He pushed past Julian and rushed out of the bathroom, his chest tight. He needed some fresh air, needed to breathe. He needed – the thing that he needed was gone, probably in a taxi by now if he had any sense. But it was too airless in the bathroom, and Julian was going to be bleeding all over the sink and his hands, and Ted didn’t – he couldn’t. His fist was a sharp pain, like glass in his knuckles, and he cradled it against his chest. Just get outside. Find a taxi. Go home. Hide forever. </p>
<p>And then he crashed headlong into Humphrey, and pitched over the wheelchair, crashing onto the floor. </p>
<p>“Ted – mate. Woah. Are you alright?”</p>
<p>He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t get up fast enough, and Humphrey already had a firm hold of his arm as he helped haul him to his feet. </p>
<p>“What happened, Ted?” Humphrey asked, his voice urgent and serious. He turned Ted’s arm, looking at the bloody fist. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>Ted shook his head. He couldn’t speak. Quite literally. He was sure that if he opened his mouth, he’d start to weep frustrated tears. What other option was there? </p>
<p>“Alright. Come on.”</p>
<p>Humphrey kept a hold of him and dragged him slowly but surely back to the table. The youngsters were still sitting around, laughing and joking. Alison noticed them first, of course, gasping. </p>
<p>“Captain, what happened?”</p>
<p>“Alison, will you go and see if there is a first aid kit here that we can borrow, please?” Humphrey said, taking charge with his usual ease. “Mike, Thomas - go and see what Julian is up to, will you? I think you need to make sure he gets home. He’s had enough for tonight.”</p>
<p>They all nodded and rushed away as Humphrey led Ted to their far end of the table and forced him into a seat. Ted went, all of the fight gone in the face of Humphrey’s gentle firmness. It was easier that way. Having someone else to hold him together. Just for a moment. </p>
<p>Katherine came to sit at Ted’s side, in Patrick’s vacated seat. She touched his elbow, peering at his bloody fist and pursing her lips. Without Humphrey asking, she loaded a cloth napkin with ice cubes and held it to Ted’s knuckles. </p>
<p>“Good job, Kitty,” Humphrey said. “Can you take one of those to Julian before the lads get him in the taxi?”</p>
<p>Humphrey had cleared the room so efficiently that Ted had to admire him. He was soft, but the iron major was still in there somewhere, just when they needed him. </p>
<p>“I assume this is what it looks like,” Humphrey said, lifting the ice pack away and inspecting the knuckles. “We’ve both seen enough of these scraps to know.”</p>
<p>Ted nodded, exhausted. It was all crashing down around him. One argument with Patrick. One blow of his own fist. Humphrey would have to let him go after this. It wasn’t setting a good example to the younger members of staff. In one evening, the threads of his life, so tightly wound, were coming undone. The cage was open and the monster was loose. </p>
<p>“I’m not going to condone it, Ted, but I know what Julian can be like. I shouldn’t have let him come to find you.”</p>
<p>“It’s not your fault,” Ted mumbled. “I’ve been – the biggest prize idiot, Humphrey.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a great kit,” Alison said, hurrying back into the room with a green box. “But it’s better than nothing.”</p>
<p>She sat down, breathless, and opened the lid. Humphrey eyed the contents. </p>
<p>“Pull out those wipes. The yellow ones. Yeah. And the small dressings. The tape. And that bandage. We’ll have to improvise.”</p>
<p>Ted watched impassively, too tired to even be embarrassed, as Humphrey began to clean and dress his bloody knuckles. Alison was silent, an excellent nurse, although she did keep stealing looks at Ted’s face when she thought he wasn’t looking. The maitre d’, hovering in the doorway, informed them that Julian was waiting outside for a taxi with the two young men accompanying him. The man had a look that suggested their party would not be welcome back, and who could blame him? Ted had made a right hash of everything. </p>
<p>Katherine came back soon after to report that Julian was safely away, with Thomas and Michael going to deliver him into Margot’s hands. Humphrey nodded, focused on his work, and a silence fell over the four of them as the bandage was carefully wound around Ted’s wrist and hand. More carefully than he deserved. </p>
<p>“Right,” Humphrey said, breaking the silence. “Julian’s a twat. I’m not angry with you about clocking him. What happened with Pat?”</p>
<p>“Do you want us to go?” Alison asked, sweeping the remains of the first aid kit back into the box. “We can just head off.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t matter,” Ted said, resting his head in his hands. His eyes, burning from tears unshed, were heavy. “I’m sure you all know. It seems I was the only one who didn’t. And now it’s too late.”</p>
<p>In the end, of course, it was sweet Katherine who dared to speak. </p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s too late, Captain,” she said softly. “He really likes you.”</p>
<p>“He does,” Alison confirmed. “A lot.”</p>
<p>Ted laughed wetly, despairingly. How had he missed it? Maybe he really was wrapped up in himself. God, he’d been such a fool. </p>
<p>“You should go. Now.” Humphrey took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away from his face. “If you’ve ever trusted me, Ted, then listen, yeah? Don’t sleep on it. Don’t argue yourself out of it. Don’t wallow in self-pity. I know what you’re like. Just pack up your balls and go to find him. Before you regret it even more than you do already.”</p>
<p>The cage was open. His heart was loose. </p>
<p>Ted nodded. </p>
<p>“I’ll get you a taxi,” Katherine said, leaping to her feet. </p>
<p>No going back. </p>
<p>** </p>
<p>Patrick lived all the way out in Stratford, a journey that was usually far too long to take in an expensive taxi. But as Katherine hailed down a car and helped Ted into it, he realised she’d got him an Uber instead. </p>
<p>“I need to pay you,” he said, fumbling for his wallet, but Katherine shook her head. </p>
<p>“Just get going, Captain. We can worry about all this later.”</p>
<p>She handed him his crutch and closed the door, flashing him one of her encouraging smiles as the car pulled away. He rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. Whatever happened when he got to Patrick’s house – and he wasn’t expecting much except the chance to apologise for his own selfish ignorance – he knew he’d have to deal with his colleagues on Monday. It was quite frankly mortifying. All of his careful steps, his deliberate conversation. All of his calculated living, in the hope that no one would know him, because being known was too hard a thing. They’d all seen him for what he was, and just played along. </p>
<p>How he was supposed to come back from that, he didn’t know. </p>
<p>How he was supposed to make it up to Patrick, he knew even less. </p>
<p>The driver was wearing headphones and completely ignored him as they crawled through the late- night traffic of Central London. Ted hated this city. He hated it so much. It was as though losing the scales on his eyes had thrown everything into bright relief. London was horrific. Disgusting, and noisy, and smelly, and ugly. One step away from hell. Dante’s tenth circle rendered in concrete and rain. </p>
<p>He’d get out. Whatever happened with Patrick, he was leaving. He’d leave his colleagues, who knew him too well, and he’d leave his cold flat, and he’d leave the traffic and the people behind. Maybe then he could find the space to try and put himself back together, after this shattering. </p>
<p>In his coat pocket, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Humphrey. </p>
<p>
  <i>Just checked on Pat. He’s at home.</i>
</p>
<p>Ted didn’t reply. He didn’t think Humphrey was expecting one. Instead, he hovered over the message icon and thought about texting Patrick. He hardly ever did that, but perhaps it would be the decent thing to warn him that he was coming. But then again, if Patrick replied to tell him to go home, he’d have to honour his wishes. And he didn’t want to. He switched his phone off and went back to staring out of the window. The rain was still coming down, and he realised that he’d left his umbrella at the restaurant. He’d just have to hope that Patrick didn’t leave him on the doorstep.</p>
<p>Ted didn’t know what he wanted, exactly, but he did know he’d find it at Patrick’s house. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ride gave him time to settle his restless nerves, and to think a little more clearly, but as they eventually pulled into Patrick’s street, Ted’s leg began to bounce and up and down. This was ridiculous. The kind of nonsense that happened in films – and usually the sort of films that he’d roll his eyes at. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say or do, or what Patrick might say in return. If he said anything. Ted wasn’t as sure as their friends that they’d guessed Patrick’s feelings correctly. Surely, he would have said something. Patrick Butcher always had worn his heart on his sleeve. </p>
<p>The driver turned him out on the street with a nod and sped away as soon as the door was closed. There was no going back now then. Not unless Ted fancied a very wet walk to the Night Tube. </p>
<p>He took the front path that he had trodden so often, a path that was now clear of the lovingly tended pots of flowers that were usually lining it. Carol had taken everything, Patrick said, and he obviously meant it. If it was possible for the little garden to look desolate, then that was how it looked. </p>
<p>There was a light on somewhere in the back of the house; the yellow light was creeping through the glass panels of the front door. Probably the kitchen. He imagined Patrick in there, the table gone already. Perhaps he was making a cup of tea. Or drinking a beer standing over the sink, looking around at the remnants of what had been his life. And here Ted was about to barge in and shatter those last melancholy moments. </p>
<p>Ruining everything, like he always managed to do. </p>
<p>Why would Patrick want him here?</p>
<p>Then there was the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, and before he could duck out of the way, the front door opened. </p>
<p>He froze, caught in the light. </p>
<p>“Alright, Ted?” Patrick said, his tone deliberate and unreadable. “I thought it might be you.”</p>
<p>His heart, long caged in his chest, threatened to leap from his mouth there and then. Ted fought to keep it in. </p>
<p>“Patrick – I’m – well, I am so sorry.”</p>
<p>It was a lame start, but Patrick didn’t slam the door. In fact, he leaned against the post and folded his arms. His hair was ruffled as though he’d been running his hands through it, and he was already barefooted on the cold tile floor. He looked, for all the world, as though Ted hadn’t ruined everything. But there was a guarded look in his eyes as he spoke. </p>
<p>“What are you sorry for, Ted?”</p>
<p>God. There was the rub. Time to heave his heart into his mouth, cough it up there and then. </p>
<p>“For being a coward,” he said. “For – never telling you the truth. For failing to see that you were trying to tell me something.”</p>
<p>Patrick’s breath caught, and he swallowed hard, but he didn’t speak. </p>
<p>Ted balled his good hand into a fist. <i>Pack up your balls, Ted.</i> Humphrey’s voice. His friend. A good man. </p>
<p>But not as good as the man standing in front of him.</p>
<p>“I love you, Patrick,” he blurted. “And I am so unprepared for you leaving that I just – I can hardly stand the thought of it.”</p>
<p>His eyes were closed, so he didn’t see Patrick lurch forwards and grab his arm, pulling him into the house. He didn’t see how he was pressed backwards into the wall, a solid thing to keep him upright as his knees threatened to give out beneath him. He heard the door slam and then Patrick’s voice, felt his chilly hands on his face. </p>
<p>“Look at me.”</p>
<p>Patrick was so close, standing on his toes. And he was smiling. Thank God he was smiling. Ted wondered if his knees would go from under him anyway as Patrick said, “I love you too, you idiot.” </p>
<p>So simple in the end. A handful of words. And then Patrick’s soft mouth was pressed to his, lips much warmer than his hands. Ted was shivering, and Patrick pressed closer to him, slid arms around him and one hand up into his hair. This was so new. He’d never much gone in for kissing, if he ever did find himself a companion. It was too much – too close and too much like a confession, admitting the real truth of who he was. But with Patrick, right here and right now, perhaps he’d be willing to learn. </p>
<p>“Touch me, Teddy,” Patrick whispered into his mouth, as he broke away for a breath. “It’s alright.”</p>
<p>Ted slipped his arms around Patrick, leaned back so he was anchoring them both against the wall. He kissed Patrick’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Bent his head and kissed his neck, and Patrick growled. Growled, and the sound went right through Ted. He broke away, gasping. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, for lack of anything else to say. His mind was on fire. A raging fire that licked down into his chest, his stomach. And he was sorry. For so many things. For not knowing what to do, or say, and refusing to learn for far too long. </p>
<p>“Don’t be. You’ve said your bit,” Patrick said tenderly, bringing his hand around to cup Ted’s cheek. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for now.”</p>
<p>Ted’s eyes settled on the stack of boxes by the living room door, taped up and labelled, and his heart dropped. It was too late. Patrick was <i>leaving.</i></p>
<p>“I left it too late,” he said dully, as though the thought hadn’t been with him, nestling in his chest for months now, taunting him. “You’re leaving.”</p>
<p>To his horror, he felt his unshed tears gather once more, hot and burning. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the brush of calloused thumbs under his eyes was enough to coax the treacherous things from their cradles and on a course down his cheeks. </p>
<p>Patrick didn’t give him a chance to hide them. He held Ted’s face steady in his hands and made hushing sounds, like one would an injured animal. Ted’s heart, free of the cage, had seen the trap too late. </p>
<p>“Come here,” Patrick said, pulling him into an embrace. Ted went and rested his face on Patrick’s shoulder, just as Patrick had clung to him earlier in the lift. Gentle fingers combed through his hair and traced his ears, and he could hardly stand it. But it was Patrick, and Patrick would always be good to him. He’d never let him down so far. Trusting him had never been a gamble. </p>
<p>“You’ve had better timing,” Patrick said in a low, soothing voice. “But I’m only going to Leeds. It’s hardly the end of the world, is it?”</p>
<p>Ted laughed, suddenly, and felt Patrick’s smile against his ear. </p>
<p>This <i>was</i> ridiculous. If anyone else except Patrick had pointed that out, he’d have been mortified. But now he knew that Patrick loved him, it felt like a joke. One of the jokes that had grown between them over the years. Ted had never really had friends to have inside jokes with. He always felt as though most people he’d ever known were laughing at him. Like they had jokes with one another about him that he couldn’t possibly understand.</p>
<p>But jokes with Patrick were never at his expense. Patrick had never laughed at him, or rolled his eyes, or made some nasty, underhanded comment. </p>
<p>Patrick knew him better than anyone ever had. Which meant he always knew exactly what to say. </p>
<p>And it <i>was</i> hardly the end of the world. </p>
<p>“Good God, man,” Ted said, freeing one his hands to wipe at his face. “You’ve wrung me out. Look at the state of me.” </p>
<p>“<i>You’re</i> wrung out? Come here, you daft bastard.”</p>
<p>When Patrick kissed him again, this time it didn’t feel like an ending.</p>
<p>Rather more of a new chapter, in a book they’d always been writing.</p>
<p>After all. It was only Leeds. It wasn’t the end of the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So that's it - all sorted and everyone happy ;) This story has consumed my life for the past four days but I was determined to get it finished by today. </p>
<p>Anyway, it isn't actually 100% done - there's a spicy treat coming later when I've had time to edit it. Hopefully also today so I can go back to my actual neglected work :P</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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